Deal's a Deal
by badriddance
Summary: Everybody's got their price. What could be bad enough to force Rorschach to deal with the devil, and what will the payment be? From a kinkmeme prompt.


It was at a crossroads at midnight.

The fall hadn't killed Nite Owl, but the sudden stop at the end had broken most of his bones. Rorschach could tell that just by the number of different angles he was laying at. Trying to move him had sent his shoulder joint tearing through the skin. He hadn't even screamed, just made the ghost of a moan as the blood spread around him in larger, wetter, warmer cape.

Rorschach had been speaking in frantic whispers, trying to reassure him, trying to call him back from the abyss, just letting his panicked thoughts spill out into words. This was too severe for him to fix. He needed real help, not just stitches and rest. He had to call an ambulance, but he couldn't leave Nite Owl like this for anyone to find. He would have to strip the costume off first so that no one would know. Could've leave Daniel here broken and naked. Couldn't leave him at all. Had to, to get help or he would die. He was dying right now, breaths becoming weaker and heartbeat sputtering out even now! Had to do something, something, _anything_!

And then the foot splashed down in the blood around Nite Owl's head. Rorschach looked up quickly to see a woman looking down at him. She looked like Eve from the Garden, dressed like Lola from the corner of 23rd.

"Anything?" she asked, around a cigarette that smelled like brimstone. He recognized her then, recognized the voice anyway. The face might change from person to person but the whisper from Below he had heard before.

"Consider carefully," she said before he could speak, or even think of what he might say. "There's no going back. What will you give me to save this man? Because he _will_ die. Soon. What is it worth to you to have a partner watch your back, to have a place you are always welcome? What will you pay to keep from having to see the warm eyes fall dark and cold, the friendly voice fall silent, the strength and the gentleness both drained away? What price for the only friend you will ever have?"

Rorschach couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. Under his hands, Nite Owl choked on some blood, making a sound Rorschach felt like _he_ should be making. She knelt down, leaning closer.

"Anything?" she prompted. Under him, Nite Owl tried to inhale and couldn't. Last chance. Desperate, already despairing, Rorschach nodded. He had to. It didn't matter what it was, what he suffered. She stood up again, triumphant and held out a hand in a fishnet glove to him. Feeling like he was putting it into a bear trap, Rorschach took it. Her grip closed tight and her fingers felt like hot iron, burning him to the bone.

"A life for a life," she proclaimed. "Not yours, but the next one. The very next life you could've saved is forfeit. Maybe it'll be a mugger who should've just scared some woman for her purse but ends up cutting her throat for it before you hear her scream. Maybe some kid who should've made the last bus will end up walking and be raped and strangled before you get there. In a city this big, there's always someone to fall through the cracks."

Then she grinned at him, all teeth and bones and gravestones, and was gone. Rorschach collapsed, fire still coursing up and down his arm. Under him, Nite Owl groaned and stirred, and then blearily sat up.

"Wha happnd?" he asked. "Hit my head?" There was still blood on the ground, but Nite Owl's bones no longer clinked like a bag full of bottles. He touched his head gingerly and looked at Rorschach, still clutched to him. "You all right?"

Stunned, horrified too deeply to process or speak, Rorschach nodded again. He clung to Nite Owl, letting the miraculously whole body shift and squirm when it should be a cooling rag doll by now. It was worth it. Daniel was worth it. Rorschach clung to that thought, too.

"I think I bit my lip," Nite Owl complained distantly. Rorschach only heard his heartbeat, focused on the creak of the costume as he moved, refusing to think about the picture in his pocket or the three other leads he had to check before he went home. His glove was unmarked, but underneath, he could still feel his hand burning.


End file.
